Great Power Reclamation

The atmosphere in Claudia's office had barely relaxed for three minutes.

Yang Chenglong put the revised contract into his bag and was about to stand up to leave when the door was suddenly pushed open from the outside.

It wasn't a knock, it was a push, and it was very forceful. The door slammed against the wall with a dull thud.

A young man stood in the doorway. He was wearing a black Tom Ford suit with a black silk shirt underneath, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a thin gold chain.

He wore sunglasses on his nose, which he didn't take off even indoors, and a half-smile played on his lips, like a shark that had smelled blood.

Liu Zixuan.

Yang Chenglong gripped the bag strap tightly. His knuckles turned white, and veins bulged.

He recognized the face—though he had only seen it a few times in London pubs, every detail of it was etched into his mind.

His hair was shiny and slicked back; his lips were thin; and he had that kind of smile that made you want to punch him.

Ye Guigen sat in the chair, without moving.

His expression remained unchanged, but his hand had already pulled his phone out of his pocket, placed it face down on his knee, and blindly typed a line of text on the back with his thumb before sending it.

Claudia stood up, her face grim.

"Mr. Liu, this is my office. You don't have an appointment—"

"I know."

Liu Zixuan took off his sunglasses, hung them on his suit pocket, and slowly walked in. His gaze swept around the office, finally landing on Yang Chenglong.

"I've come to see my friend Mr. Yang. It's been a long time, Yang Chenglong. I heard you came to Berlin, why didn't you let me know? I would have invited you to dinner."

Yang Chenglong stood up; he was a head taller than Liu Zixuan and looked down at him.

"Liu Zixuan, what are you doing here?"

"Just came to see you." Liu Zixuan sat down in the chair opposite the desk, crossed his legs, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and lit it.

"I heard you're in talks with Ms. Claudia about a collaboration? How did it go? Did she agree?"

Claudia walked to the desk, pressed a button on it, and spoke a sentence in German into the microphone.

But one of the two bodyguards following Liu Zixuan—one was the burly man over six feet tall whom he had met in London before, and the other was a stranger, even stronger, with the muscles in his neck stretching his shirt collar taut—walked to the wall and unplugged the telephone line.

“Ms. Claudia,” Liu Zixuan exhaled a puff of smoke:

"Don't be nervous. I'm just here to chat. I won't take up too much of your time."

Yang Chenglong took a step forward. Ye Guigen reached out and stopped him. His hand rested on Yang Chenglong's forearm, the pressure light but steady.

“Liu Zixuan,” Ye Guigen’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear:

“We know what you were doing in Berlin. You also know what agreements your father signed in Singapore. Is your coming here your father's idea, or your own?”

Liu Zixuan's expression changed slightly. The change was subtle, but Ye Guigen noticed it—

His pupils contracted slightly, and the smile on his lips froze for a fraction of a second.

"Like leaves returning to their roots," Liu Zixuan stubbed out his cigarette in Claudia's teacup, the tea hissing softly.
"Don't think that just because your dad had tea with my dad in Singapore, this matter is over. My dad is afraid of your dad, but I'm not. My dad owes you favors, but I don't."

He stood up and walked to Yang Chenglong, the two of them less than half a meter apart. Liu Zixuan looked up, staring into Yang Chenglong's eyes.

"Yang Chenglong, do you think everything will be fine just because Claudia signed a contract with you?"

"Do you think this German platform can survive by partnering with you?"

"Let me tell you, the Lin family's shares in the platform are just one of my cards. I have other cards to play. You can't play them all."

Yang Chenglong clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. It hurt, but he needed the pain to keep himself from acting impulsively.

Ye Guigen's hand was still on his forearm, like a rope tethering a bull that was about to charge out.

“Liu Zixuan,” Yang Chenglong’s voice was very low, so low it seemed to be rolling in his throat:

"What do you want?"

What do I want?

Liu Zixuan laughed, a very exaggerated laugh, opening his arms as if to embrace the whole world:

“I want you to kneel down and beg me. Kneel down and say, ‘Young Master Liu, I was wrong,’ and I’ll let you go. Your ‘Pegasus,’ your scarf, your herdsmen—I won’t touch them.”

The office fell silent for a few seconds. Claudia stood behind her desk, her face as white as a sheet.

Her gaze swept back and forth between Yang Chenglong and Liu Zixuan, her lips moved, but she didn't say anything.

Yang Chenglong looked into Liu Zixuan's eyes. There was something in those eyes—not hatred, not enmity, but a pure, undisguised evil. The kind of evil that takes pleasure in the suffering of others.

He suddenly stopped being angry.

It's not that I'm scared, it's that I'm not angry anymore.

Because he realized one thing—Liu Zixuan was not an opponent, he was a patient.

A patient whose brain has been corrupted by money and power. It's not worth getting angry with a patient.

"Liu Zixuan," Yang Chenglong's voice calmed down, so calm that even he himself felt unfamiliar with it.

“I will not kneel. In my life, I have knelt to heaven and earth, to my parents, and to my grandfather. But I will not kneel to you. You are not worthy.”

Liu Zixuan's smile froze.

"What did you say?"

I said, you don't deserve it.

Liu Zixuan's face flushed red, then turned purple, then blue. He took a step back and waved to the two bodyguards behind him.

"Hold him down."

The two bodyguards moved at the same time.

A burly man, over six feet tall, lunged at Yang Chenglong from the left and reached out to grab his shoulder.

Another burly man came around from the right and blocked the doorway, cutting off their escape route.

Yang Chenglong did not back down. He pushed away Ye Guigen's hand that was pressing on his forearm, leaned to the left to avoid the big man's palm, and smashed his right fist directly into the other man's ribs.

That's what Old Mike taught him—don't hit someone in the face, hit them in the face and leave evidence. Hitting the ribs hurts, but you won't get a medical report.

The burly man grunted and bent over. Yang Chenglong didn't pause; he thrust his knee forward, striking the man's chin squarely.

His tall, 1.9-meter-tall body crashed to the ground with a thud, like a felled tree, the back of his head hitting the corner of an oak desk, and blood immediately gushed out.

Seeing his companion fall to the ground, the burly man at the door pulled out a retractable baton from his waist, swung it with a click, and swung it at Yang Chenglong.

Yang Chenglong dodged the first blow by sidestepping, but the second blow came too fast for him to dodge, so he could only block it with his left arm.

The stick struck his forearm with a dull thud. It hurt; it felt like his bones were about to break, but he gritted his teeth and didn't cry out.

The burly man swung his stick a third time.

Ye Guigen moved. He didn't rush towards the burly man, but towards the desk. He grabbed the potted green plant on the desk, pot and soil, and smashed it directly into the burly man's face.

The flowerpot shattered, mud flew everywhere, and the burly man's eyes were covered in mud, causing him to swing his stick at nothing.

Yang Chenglong seized the opportunity and kicked the burly man in the side of his knee. The joint cracked with a crisp sound, and the burly man screamed and knelt on one knee.

From the moment the first bodyguard fell to the moment the second bodyguard knelt, it took less than ten seconds.

Liu Zixuan stood in the middle of the office, his expression changing from arrogant to terrified.

He retreated until he reached the wall, with nowhere left to go, his back pressed against the wall, like a mouse cornered.

"You—you all—"

His voice trembled, "Do you know whose territory this is? This is Berlin! Not London! If you touch me, you won't get out!"

Yang Chenglong walked up to him. His left arm hung down, trembling with pain, but his eyes were cold.

He reached out his right hand and grabbed Liu Zixuan's neck—not in a strangling way, but in a way that rendered him immobile and speechless, leaving him only able to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Liu Zixuan," Yang Chenglong's voice was very soft, so soft that only the two of them could hear it:

"You just said you wanted me to kneel down and beg you?"

Liu Zixuan's eyes widened even more, and he made a gurgling sound in his throat.

"I won't make you kneel now. I'm asking you to do something."

Yang Chenglong released his grip, took out his phone from his pocket, turned on the recording function, and held it up in front of Liu Zixuan.

“Say it— ‘My name is Liu Zixuan, I’m a bastard. I sent people to Hangzhou to threaten Yang Chenglong’s fiancée, I’m a beast.’ Say it.”

Liu Zixuan's face turned a deep purplish-red. "You—you're insane—"

"Not going to talk?" Yang Chenglong moved the phone forward an inch further:
“Then I’ll call the police right now. You brought bodyguards and weapons into a private office and assaulted someone. This is Germany, not Singapore.”

“Your father has no say here. Do you believe I can let you spend Christmas in a Berlin detention center?”

Liu Zixuan's lips trembled. He looked into Yang Chenglong's eyes, which held no anger, no hatred, only a determination that chilled him to the bone.

This guy keeps his word. He really will call the police. He really will spend Christmas in jail.

"I'll say it," Liu Zixuan said, his voice barely audible.

"Speak louder."

“My name is Liu Zixuan—” his voice trembled, “I am—a bastard. I sent people to Hangzhou—to threaten Yang Chenglong’s fiancée—I am a beast.”

Yang Chenglong pressed the stop button and put his phone away.

“I will send this recording to your father. I will also send it to Lin Wanwan. And I will send it to Bakhtiar. Let everyone hear what kind of person the young master of the Liu Group is.”

He turned around and walked up to Claudia. Claudia stood behind the desk, her hands on the surface, her face pale, but there was something in her eyes—not fear, but shock.

She never expected this seemingly clumsy young man to be so ruthless when he got into a fight;
No one expected that Ye Guigen, who hadn't said much since entering, would pick up a potted green ivy and throw it at someone.

“Ms. Claudia,” Yang Chenglong’s voice returned to normal, “I’m sorry for messing up your office.”

Claudia looked at the broken flowerpots on the ground, the scattered soil, the bloodstains splattered on the wall, and the bodyguard lying unconscious on the corner of the table.

She took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

"It's okay. We can buy more flowerpots. We can repaint the walls."

She looked at Yang Chenglong and asked, "Mr. Yang, are you injured?"

Yang Chenglong looked down at his left arm. The sleeve was torn by the stick, and the skin inside had swollen up with a bluish-purple ridge, but it wasn't bleeding.

"It's just a superficial wound. It's nothing serious."

You should go to the hospital.

"No need." Yang Chenglong rolled up his sleeves, covering the bluish-purple ridge:
"Ms. Claudia, about the contract—"

"The contract remains unchanged." Claudia's voice was firm:
"Three thousand, one year. I'll contact the testing agency about the certification on Monday."

Yang Chenglong extended his hand. Claudia grasped it.

"Thank you," Yang Chenglong said.

"You're welcome."

Claudia glanced at Liu Zixuan, who was standing pale-faced in the corner:
"Some people need someone to teach them how to be a person."

Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen walked out of the office. In the corridor, several employees who heard the commotion peeked out, but no one dared to approach. The elevator doors opened, and the two stepped inside. The moment the doors closed, Yang Chenglong leaned against the elevator wall, slowly slid down, and squatted on the floor.

"Are you alright?" Ye Guigen squatted down and looked at him.

"It's nothing," Yang Chenglong's voice trembled slightly, "it's just that my legs are weak."

"Weren't your legs weak when you hit someone just now?"

"My legs went weak when I was hitting him. They only went weak after I finished hitting him."

Ye Guigen couldn't help but laugh. After laughing, he stood up and helped Yang Chenglong up as well.

"Let's go to the hospital. You need to get an X-ray of your arm."

"No, I'll just ice it when I get back."

"If your bone is cracked, ice won't help."

"It's cracked, so it's cracked. It's not like it's never cracked before."

Ye Guigen looked at him and shook his head.

When will you learn to cherish yourself?

"When no one is hitting me anymore."

The elevator reached the first floor. The two people walked out, through the lobby, and out of the office building.

The Berlin sun shone brightly on his face, stinging his eyes. Yang Chenglong squinted and took a deep breath.

"Returning to one's roots".

"Ah."

Who did you just message?

Ye Guigen was taken aback. "How did you know I sent a message?"

"I saw it when you took out your phone. You sent a message."

Ye Guigen took out his phone from his pocket, found the sent message, and handed it to Yang Chenglong.

The screen displayed only one line of text: "Uncle Scar, Liu Zixuan is in Berlin. Claudia's office. Fifteenth floor."

Yang Chenglong stared at the words and remained silent for a while.

"Has Uncle Scar arrived?"

Ye Guigen glanced at his watch. "We should be there soon."

As soon as he finished speaking, two black Mercedes-Benz vans turned the corner and stopped in front of the office building.

The car door opened, and Scarface was the first to jump out, followed by six men, all wearing dark jackets, marching in unison like a small special forces unit.

Scarface walked up to Ye Guigen. "Young Master Ye, where is he?"

"Fifteenth floor. Claudia's office. Two bodyguards, one of whom is probably unconscious. And the other one in charge, surnamed Liu."

Scarface nodded and waved to the people behind him. The six men filed into the office building.

“Uncle Scar,” Ye Guigen called out to him, “Don’t cause a death.”

Scarface turned around and smiled. The smile looked particularly sinister on his scarred face.

"Young Master Ye, don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

He went inside.

Yang Chenglong and Ye Guigen stood at the entrance of the office building, looking at the glass door.

“Back to the roots,” Yang Chenglong said, “when did you call for this?”

"When you hit your first bodyguard."

How did you know I needed people?

"Because your expression was off when you hit someone."

Ye Guigen said, “When you usually hit someone, you're done after you’re done. But just now when you were hitting someone, there was something in your eyes—you wanted to hit someone more. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Yang Chenglong lowered his head and looked at his hands, which were stained with blood and mud.

"You're right. I almost lost control just now."

"I know."

“If you hadn’t been there, I might have killed him.”

"I know."

Yang Chenglong raised his head and looked at Ye Guigen.

"Thank you for returning to my roots."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for stopping me."

Ye Guigen patted him on the shoulder.

"You're welcome. Just don't smash other people's potted plants next time. That plant is really pretty."

Yang Chenglong paused for a moment, then laughed. His left arm ached as he laughed, making him wince, but he still laughed.

The two stood in the Berlin afternoon sun, one with a swollen arm, the other with clothes covered in dirt.

But they were all alive. They were all standing.

Ten minutes later, Scarface emerged from the office building. He walked up to Ye Guigen and pulled a cell phone from his pocket—not his own, but Liu Zixuan's.

“They’ve taken him away,” Scarface said. “They left through the back door. Nobody saw them.”

"Where did you take it?"

"Airport. Private tarmac. There's a plane waiting."

"Who arranged this?"

"Mr. Ye Feng."

Yang Chenglong was stunned. "Your dad?"

Ye Guigen put his phone away and looked at him.

“My dad was in Singapore. After having tea with Mr. Liu, he arranged this flight. He knew Liu Zixuan would be coming to Berlin.”

Yang Chenglong opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

“My dad said,” Ye Guigen’s voice was calm:

"If Liu Zixuan stays put in Berlin, the plane will go back empty. If he doesn't behave, the plane will take him back to Singapore and hand him over to his father."

Yang Chenglong remained silent for a long time.

"Your dad knows everything?"

"He knows everything."

"And what about your grandfather?"

Ye Guigen thought about it.

“My grandfather knows more than my father. But he doesn’t tell me.”

Two people stood at the entrance of the office building, watching the scarred man get into the car. The two Mercedes-Benz vans drove out of the street and disappeared around the corner.

"Let's go," Ye Guigen said. "To the hospital. You really need to get an X-ray of your arm."

Yang Chenglong did not refuse again. He followed Ye Guigen to the roadside and hailed a taxi.

In the car, Yang Chenglong took out his phone and sent a message to Lin Wanwan.

"Wanwan, the Berlin matter is settled. Cooperation has resumed in Germany. Three thousand articles, one year."

The reply came quickly; it was a voice message. He clicked to listen, and Lin Wanwan's voice was both crying and laughing.

"Yang Chenglong, I can't do anything with you."

Yang Chenglong looked at the words and smiled.

He put his phone away, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes.

The taxi weaved through the streets of Berlin. Sunlight streamed through the window, warming his face.

But he knew that Liu Zixuan's matter was not over. Wang Jianguo's matter was not over either. Bakhtiar's matter was certainly not over.

but it does not matter.

The road ahead is long. Take it slow.

Junken City, late at night on the same day.

Ye Yuze was sitting in his study when the phone rang. He answered it.

"Dad." It was Ye Feng's voice. "Liu Zixuan has boarded the plane. He'll arrive in Singapore in two hours. Boss Liu is waiting at the airport."

"Hmm." Ye Yuze leaned back in his chair. "What about Berlin?"

"Gui Gen and Jackie Chan have been discharged from the hospital. Jackie Chan's arm bone is fine, but he has soft tissue contusions."

"That kid's got guts."

"Like his grandfather."

Ye Yuze remained silent for a while.

"Ye Feng".

"Ah."

"When do you plan to make your move against Wang Jianguo?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

"It's not about taking action. It's about closing the net."

Ye Yuze's lips curled up slightly.

"Okay. You accept it. I'll have some tea."

He hung up the phone, stood up, and walked to the window. The stars outside were shining brightly, densely packed, like someone had spilled a bag of loose silver.

He picked up the photo on the table and looked at the smiling faces of the two young people in it.

“You two lads,” he muttered to himself, “the road ahead is long. But you’re doing well.”

He put the photo back on the table and turned off the light.

The study was plunged into darkness.

The stars outside the window are still shining.

(To be continued) (End of this chapter)